


The Hunt: Ghost in the Darkness

by AnonGrimm



Series: Equilibrium: of Cruelty and Pain (Sabretooth) [12]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Consensual sweet hetero sex and homosexual sex - whaaat? Wild I know..., Explicit Language, F/M, Felching, Feral Behavior, Feral Nature, Graphic Sex, Graphic Slash Sex, Het and Slash, Heterosexual Sex, Hunters & Hunting, Hunting people as prey, IronTooth - Freeform, M/M, Minor Painplay, Oral Sex, Palladium Poisoning, References to Stalking, Rimming, extreme violence, minor Bloodplay, references to cannibalism, some misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonGrimm/pseuds/AnonGrimm
Summary: Victor stops by the Stark Expo before a new mission comes up. While reminiscing about the legendary 1898 terror of the Tsavo Lions, Victor goes on a hunt to avenge and protect lions his organization the Sanctuary has placed on a reservation in Kenya, East Africa. After the mission, he gets a surprise armored guest at his beach retreat near Mombasa.
Relationships: Sabretooth/Original Female Character, Sabretooth/Tony Stark, Victor Creed/Original Female Character(s), Victor Creed/Tony Stark
Series: Equilibrium: of Cruelty and Pain (Sabretooth) [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/238704
Comments: 15
Kudos: 19





	The Hunt: Ghost in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this story anywhere without the author’s permission. Thanks. Feedback and constructive critiques are welcome, too. Just comment or contact me here: Email: anongrimm@msn.com, Twitter: @MET_Fic, or Tumblr: anongrimm.tumblr.com.
> 
> TIMELINE: This story takes place in the Spring during the events at the beginning of Iron Man 2. This is the sequel to my story "After Midnight". My Sabretooth is the blond mutant from the Comicsverse, Earth 616, while Tony Stark is from the Movieverse.
> 
> Sabretooth is a gleeful villain and I don’t plan to redeem him here; if you like evil main characters, enjoy! If not, you might want to re-read the tags... My Sabretooth is inspired by the version of him when they draw him sexy and write him as an intelligent, though brutal, character. Rather than make this note as long as the story, you can get more details at my personal fanfic blog: mindseyetheatre.net or look up Sabretooth on the Marvel Comics wikis and databases. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic) (anongrimm.tumblr.com)
> 
> IronTooth art commission for AnonGrimm by Aivelin!  
> 

Who’s in your shadows?  
Who’s ready to play?  
Are we the hunters?  
or are we the prey?  
There’s no surrender  
and there’s no escape  
Are we the hunters?  
or are we the prey?  
This is a wild game of survival

~ Game of Survival (Ruelle, Johas Heart remix)

“Rise like lions after slumber  
in unvanquishable number  
shake your chains to earth like dew  
which in sleep had fallen on you  
Ye are many, they are few” ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

“The greatest fear in the world is of the opinion of others and the moment you are unafraid of the crowd, you are no longer a sheep, you become a lion. A great roar arises in your heart, the roar of freedom.” ~ Osho

****************************************************************

The sprawling technological wonderland of the Stark Expo was a little overwhelming after packing in a string of high-tech cities on his schedule and taking little down time.

Victor gritted his teeth and tried to stay focused on the most important bit of his agenda here – minding his Ps and Qs and staying out of trouble on Tony’s turf. He was wearing one of his favorite bespoke suits to inspire good behavior, as ruining it in a scrap or impromptu murder would be a shame.

It was a decent warm day for the 22nd of April so he’d ditched the coat; the crowds would have ended up stepping on it anyway, and he couldn’t gut them for it.

As evening came on, the place lit up like Christmas. The crowds got thinner when many people headed into the New York State Pavilion early for the main kickoff show.

_That’s where Tony’ll be. Maybe I can slip in at tha back fer showtime. Word has it he’s flyin’ in, gonna do a HALO jump from a C-130 Hercules. Oughta be entertainin’ fer ‘is ginger handler – man sounded queasy as fuck on tha phone earlier. Hungover or still chuggin’ tha hair o’ tha dog? Advanced palladium poisonin’? Place yer bets._

Drawn in by another fancy sign, this one for Cordco, a security systems company and subsidiary of Stark Industries, Victor wandered in to see what they brought. A man in a decent Armani suit who had told the crowd gathered there that he was Karl Oakley, explained things in an Australian accent as Victor made a hole in the human sea to stand in and listen.

“All we had to do was come up with some positive, world-changing ideas based on Tony Stark’s radical new technology. So – no pressure then...” He smiled as the people laughed.

Victor smirked as memories of carnival tent hucksters and wagon-turned-stage snakeoil salesmen rose up from the swamp of his brain. Part of their success in fleecing the sheep was due to the utter boredom of farmers’ and general peasants’ lives.

 _A good entertainer could make a decent livin’ in tha previous century._ Glancing around, he got the sense that not much had changed. _This lot’s got more money an’ some o’ ‘em smell better – ‘bout all tha diff’rence I can see. ‘Course, tha snakeoil’s changed a lot._

For a moment, he heard circus music and a barker’s shouts as the phantom smells of canvas, hay, and pack animal manure ghosted in from the disturbed memories.

_Shoulda high-tailed it from Pa’s bullshit an’ hopped on one o’ ‘em wagons. Run off an’ join tha circus – hellfire, maybe I did, somewhere. Ain’t no elephants ‘round here, ‘cept over nine miles out, at tha Bronx Zoo – so that stink’s just ‘nother ghost._

Catching an unwelcome and real scent approaching, he let a low growl warn Dr. Henry McCoy that he shouldn’t get too close. Naturally, the idiot bio-geek ignored it. Glaring over at him, Victor took in his suit with slight surprise. It was probably bespoke, a dark brown twill with black vest and tie. He wore narrow rectangular reading glasses and actually carried a plastic shopping bag in one blue furry hand.

“Tha growl means fuck off, ya domesticated ape.”

“Forewarned is forearmed, I dare say. I’m surprised to see you here, let alone all spruced up. My, what a grand tailor you have – I suspect yours and mine know each other. Hello again, Herr Toothmonger. How are you, Victor?”

“Can’t ya just say hi like a regular geek?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Ain’t here fer fun. Fun’s bloody, an’ I aim t’ keep tha threads clean. Got me missin’ what this Aussie nerd’s sayin’, now.”

“He’s talking about how they spent eight months utilizing aspects of the Iron Man Armor Mark IV and AccuTech’s sonic technology to develop new firefighting tech. Sonic waves used to put out fires; it’s a brave new world we live in. Quite exciting, all of this.” He waved the free big blue hand around to include the Expo at large.

Victor snorted. “So tha next time some asshole sets me on fire, I oughta shriek at it?”

“Wouldn’t you anyhow? I would. Hopefully not tonight, however; that black double-breasted number is a stunner. I never took you for a man willing to wear pink – a bold move indeed.”

“Not like any o’ these flesh bags got tha stones t’ call me a sissy.”

“No, I expect not. The shirt is silk, isn’t it?”

Eyebrow arched, Victor’s frown became sharp with a curling upper lip. “Jabberin’ t’ distract? Where’s tha rest o’ yer unwashed X-freak bruisers?”

“I’m going stag, I’m afraid. No one presently at home is interested in this sort of thing. Yet here you are, bruiser in sartorial splendor, taking in the tech. I simply had to chat – to pry of course. For instance, are you here to see our mutual friend Mr. Stark?”

Not shocked at all, he took the insinuation in stride. “He invited me – in tha offhand ‘why don’t ya stop by’ sense – it don’t come with a private VIP badge or nothin’.”

“No backstage groupie access? Champagne room privileges? Hmm … intriguing.”

“Bet ya never been in a champagne room with actual strippers. Those mind-witch feminist skirts ya live with would be so ashamed o’ ya an’ all.”

“My own feminist tendencies wouldn’t find that appealing, despite some of Logan’s more persuasive efforts.”

Victor gave his head a rueful (and mocking) shake. “A man claimin’ he’s feminist – which o’ ‘em slinky frails convinced ya t’ lock yer balls in a box?”

“I suspect an attempt to explain the merits of gender equality may fall on deaf pointed ears at present.”

“Truer words ain’t never been said.”

“So is this exemplary couture not intended as a lure for Tony?”

“Nope. He’s convinced yer oblivious, by tha by. Tryin’ t’ clue ‘im in – on tha subtle or bold as brass – don’t always work so good. Selective hearin’ worse’n me.”

“I assure you, his secret is safe in my case. Too tempting not to needle you about it, though – I’m not a saint after all, alas.”

“Yeah well, he don’t want yer compatriots in tha know, neither.”

“Then it’s fortunate Logan wasn’t home that morning when our charming friend stopped by doused in Eau de Feralle. Are you invested in the secret?”

“I’m told I oughta be.”

“Left to your own devices, you would invest instead in a bullhorn?”

“Why’re yer lips still flappin’?”

“If you wanted to brag, of course, I’m all ears.”

“Yer fishin’ up tha wrong tree, Doc.”

“Can’t be taunted into a kiss and tell scenario – admirable.”

“Standin’ there like yer tickin’ off boxes on a fuckin’ chart – an’ ya wonder why I don’t like ya none. Are ya a genius or an idiot? My biz ain’t never gonna be yers an’ Stark’s is off limits; I watch ‘is back cuz he watches mine, capiche?”

“Fine, fine. You only make me curiouser, but I don’t want blood on my suit, either.”

“Guess yer a genius after all.”

“Indeed. Are you attending the main event? We could team up for it. I hate going stag.”

“Ya forgot – again – that I don’t like ya, I think. Go lob pricey words at some other schmuck.”

“Are you sure? Inventing our secret handshake could be tabled for now. Furry Folks Forever? They may stare less with two of us.”

Letting a snarl flash upper fangs with the rest, Victor glared at him. “First off, if’n yer fussed over what these useless flatscans think ‘bout how ya look, my advice is, don’t let ‘em waste yer time. Roll in it. Don’t dream it, be it. Fuck ‘em. Second, fuck off. My nice evenin’ depends on not seein’ any o’ ya damn dungeon-happy fuckers.”

“Hmm. Exemplary advice. Was there a _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ quote stuffed in there? Delightful.”

“Listen, four-eyes – ya spent too long as my mad scientist jailer, pokin’ me without askin’, same as tha rest. Not interested in bein’ pals.”

“I feel duty-bound and pride-singed to say that I, at least, hoped to help you. I know others among us failed you and I regret that. I wish it had been different so you could’ve accepted the help of those who were trying. I will say this – for all your terrible crimes, I do admire your strength of spirit, your fight to survive and rise above your stunted beginnings. An appropo quote for the occasion is sadly failing me…”

Growling, Victor rasped at him, “‘It’s better t’ die on yer feet than t’ live on yer knees.’ Emiliano Zapata, Mexican Revolutionary. Go fuck yerself, Doc.”

“An excellent quote. Oh, my stars, yes. Good evening, Victor. Enjoy the show.” As Victor moved away, he heard McCoy add softly, “All of these roads not taken…”

Avoiding the main stage for a bit, he wandered into the Oracle Corporation’s biodome. Only a few people were in there, slowly heading for exits to get to the opening ceremonies.

“Maybe I oughta skip it,” he muttered.

Breathing deeply, he listened to the quiet nature sounds under the dome but they couldn’t quite soothe him. Every surface had been touched by humans. It was a man-made terrarium with a structure overhead that resembled a cage. With a shudder, he headed out again and kept his senses on alert.

_Flushin’ Meadows – such a pat name fer a scrawny patch o’ green in Queens. Way too close t’ Westchester, obvs. Should get tha fuck outta here._

In the end, the prospect of seeing Tony drew him like a moth to a flame into the thicker crowds entering the main pavilion.

The show, once Tony finally flew in, was both a sensory treat and a potential overload. Instinct urged him to run, to find the peace of forests and mountains.

He scanned for and easily spotted the X-Man Beast – watching him, of course, and standing close enough to jump in if he did anything criminal. No scents of the others could be detected, yet that was no guarantee.

 _Chill, asshole_ , he thought at McCoy with a brief glare.

Victor turned to see the weird machines come out of the floor of the stage, removing armor as they spun the man in a slow circle. Tony emerged grinning in a tuxedo like an egotistical butterfly from a gold and titanium cocoon.

Occasionally, when faced with the cutting edge tech the man could create, Victor felt like a dusty relic in his wake. Then a defiant pride would build and surge.

_With all this adorin’ crowd screamin’ fer ‘im, odds’re good that I might could be tha only one here that knows what ‘is cock tastes like._

Purring at the thought, he took in all the myriad heat scents from the mass of humans and most of the red and gold Ironettes surrounding his lover. It was euphoric and helped to push back the fight or flight response.

As the skirts strutted away, Tony Stark opened his keynote speech with some doozy cheezy bloated ego lines that nonetheless made Victor smirk.

“…I’m not saying that from the ashes of captivity, never has a greater phoenix metaphor been personified in human history! I’m not saying that Uncle Sam can kick back on a lawn chair, sipping on an iced tea because I haven’t come across anyone who’s man enough to go toe-to-toe with me on my best day!”

 _Def not Hydra._ Glancing over at McCoy again, he caught him eye rolling the bold claims and shot the man an arrogant sneer when their eyes met.

“Please, it’s not about me,” Tony continued. “It’s not about you. It’s not even about us. It’s about legacy. It’s about what we choose to leave behind for future generations.”

Scents around him shifted and he growled when McCoy moved next to him. Trying to ignore the idiot, he focused on Tony.

“And that’s why for the next year and for the first time since 1974, the best and brightest men and women of nations and corporations the world over will pool their resources, share their collective vision, to leave behind a brighter future. It’s not about us. Therefore, what I’m saying, if I’m saying anything, is welcome back ... to the Stark Expo!”

McCoy set his bag between shoes he was clearly uncomfortable in and watched Tony as he spoke. “Have you thought about your own legacy, Victor? What will you leave behind for future generations?”

“My own glorious self. I’m damn near immortal an’ nothin’s managed t’ kill me so far, not fer lack o’ tryin’ – so I’ll still be here. He’s talkin’ t’ these mortal critters an’ others that ain’t gonna end up three hundred years old some day – like yer not. Some day, tha runt’ll be tha only one o’ ya left. Since he can’t take me fer long on a good day, maybe I’ll finally get some peace then.”

“And yet Stark himself –”

“Shut tha fuck up, he’s still talkin’.”

“And now,” Tony wrapped up, “making a special guest appearance from the great beyond to tell you what it’s all about, please welcome my father – Howard.”

When Tony left the stage as the video of his father played on a huge screen, Victor was tempted to try to find him but then dropped the idea.

Hank McCoy was mercifully silent, for once, yet he was still watching him … studying him. It made Victor’s hackles struggle to rise inside his suit.

He could scent Tony; with one sniff, he knew exactly where he was at the side of the stage. A sharp scent of blood made him growl but it was barely a drop – Tony had pricked a finger with something metal. Before he could wonder why, he realized he could smell the answer: he was testing his palladium toxicity levels and the result was worse than it had been in Arizona.

_Damn it, Tony..._

The urge, the longing, to be there beside him was thick in his chest. It felt like a specific kind of hunger – when you’re too sick or wounded to hunt.

_Ya can’t help with this. Security wouldn’t allow it without a fight or ‘is say so an’ tha man already said he couldn’t meet here. McCoy wouldn’t stay outta tha fray, neither, an’ yer ‘sposed t’ behave, anyhow. He only invited ya as a show o’ trust. So sit on it._

Victor glared up at Howard Stark on the screen instead.

_They all worship ‘im, too – sonovabitch obvs fucked Tony up as a kid. Ain’t a fan, asshole – thanks fer breedin’ t’ make Tony, though. All I’ll give ya._

Growling again, he studied the crowd and the crew, security, and hangers-on around the edge of the stage.

Clearing his throat, McCoy said, “Since you aren’t enthralled with the father and can’t currently access the son, you could do worse than talking to me.”

Turning his head to glare at him, Victor retorted, “Could do a lot worse.” His predatory scowl swept over the crowd to illustrate the barely veiled threat.

“That wouldn’t keep your excellent suit clean – your earlier stated goal.”

Frustration began tying his stomach in knots. A swift spike of anger dropped his pointed ears down to pin in a warning. “What tha fuck do ya want, ya obnoxious bloody nerdzilla?”

McCoy’s chuckle brought the growl back up. “He won’t return; the schedule’s set. In typical Stark fashion, he’ll be guarded and guided through the crowd backstage and out to his escape. If you intend to keep his secrets, then the presumed point of this outing is over. However, it would be a shame to waste the time we both spent getting all gussied up. Let’s find one of the cafés with fewer people and chat. I’ll buy the coffee – or if you prefer, a bar and beer?”

“Out away from tha masses o’ innocent sheeple, huh? Far from witnesses, too.” Victor sneered, one eyebrow arched in suspicion. His frown didn’t turn up into a smirk until the scientist huffed in exasperation – equal to his own.

“You refuse to trust even a tiny bit?”

“Trust one o’ ya? Dream on.”

“Even though you can scent that I’m not lying. I have no ambush planned. I’ll even promise not to needle you anymore about the elusive Mr. Stark.”

“What in hell do ya an’ me got t’ talk ‘bout? Logan fixed my brain fer me by stabbin’ it an’ I fixed tha rest o’ my probs my own damn self. Don’t need ya. Don’t like ya one eensy bit. Pick a language I can say fuck off in that’ll work, huh? I know lotsa ‘em.”

“That’s rather why I wanted to talk to you, because you aren’t stupid and I enjoy a good debate/discussion with someone who doesn’t happen to share my every viewpoint.”

“Go jaw with tha runt, then – he don’t see eye t’ eye with ya on lotsa shit. I know ya ‘nuff t’ figure ya got an agenda; X-freaks always do, ‘specially tha ones like ya who help run that pretty prison in Westchester. So what if’n yer not lyin’? Found yerself solo on a night ya wanted comp’ny? Cry me a river.”

Whatever response the fool was drawing breath to make was interrupted by Victor’s phone ringing in his inner breast pocket. He glanced at the screen hoping for Tony but he got Liane – an excellent stand-in and excuse to escape without losing face. Answering it, he grinned at McCoy’s surprised reaction to his greeting.

“Hiya doll, keepin’ it warm fer me? Naw, I’m all done here, headin’ out. Yeah? Ya got it.” He tucked the phone back in its pocket. “Time’s up, Doc.”

“So this clandestine affair with Stark isn’t an exclusive relationship, I see.”

“Don’t be an idiot, it don’t suit ya. Nobody puts my balls in a box.” Tilting his head slightly, he asked, “What were ya gonna say ‘bout ‘Stark ‘isself’ back there?”

“I was trying to point out that he won’t live to three hundred years old, either.”

“Yeah? Don’t put it past ‘im. That man’s talents’re off tha chain. Time t’ flush yer agenda, Magilla Gorilla – parkin’ lot’s outta bounds an’ I will rip ya a new shitter if’n ya follow me.” He turned and stalked off with senses on high alert – just in case.

“Farewell then, Herr Toothmonger. We can table our chat until next time.”

Sending aloft a quick middle finger salute, he went for his smokes and lit up just to avoid mauling random expo patrons on the way out.

Victor’s hackles began to relax as he left McCoy in his wake and no X-freak ambush turned up after all. Taking a taxi to JFK, he waited until he was sitting on his jet to call Liane back.

“Yer still up at tha Mukutan Retreat, huh? Told ya it’s addictive.”

“Yes, but we have a ... situation here – in Kenya, I mean. I wanted to see if you could help with that – personally?”

“We talkin’ claws an’ teeth or somethin’ sweeter?” he teased, though her tone had already implied claws and teeth. “Tell ya what,” he caught Zane’s eye and continued, “I’ll head straight there an’ ya can explain over a quick fuck.”

He ended the call on her flustered agreement. She was upset about something but his ribald talk had had the intended effect – calming her down a peg.

_If’n tha sitch involves tha wilds o’ Kenya an’ blood on my claws, gonna call it a needed vacation. Fuckin’ stinkin’ cities full o’ useless dumb meat..._

~ ~ ~

Terminal 1E for international arrivals at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport was a circus he was now rich enough to skip. Zane bypassed it completely to land at the retreat’s private Laikipia Enghelesha airstrip.

“Make tha calls, get tha gear ready,” he told Zane as he left the jet. “This is probly just an overnighter. Once I fig out what we’re dealin’ with, might could go in any direction.”

“I’m on it, Boss.”

Liane was in the back of the black Land Rover Defender that came to get him. His fancy suit wasn’t the best attire for this place, but he’d kept on the black bespoke suit and pink silk shirt and tie to entertain her – since she loved getting him out of those. The look on her face when she spotted him made the pants feel too tight in a hurry.

Since she wasn’t one of the paid courtesans his banker partner Obinata kept on staff, and fucking in a chauffeured car wasn’t her scene, he stayed on his side of the backseat to face her and let her indulge in a bit of small talk. The driver was familiar but older now since his last visit.

“I’m staying here because you arranged it. I’m still not used to living like you do, but it’s … quite nice. I’m not sure the honeymoon suite was necessary.”

“Life’s too short t’ fret ‘bout necessary, darlin’. ‘Sides, livin’ like I do also includes holin’ up in a thicket a hundred miles from any cell tower.”

“Okay, this is much more my style, then.”

Victor grinned. “Thought so.” He traded a wink with the driver via the rearview mirror. “Wish ya coulda brought Mya – she’d love it here.”

“Maybe someday; this was supposed to be a faster trip. My parents moved into your mansion with me as you suggested, and they spoil her worse than you do, so she’ll be fine.”

“Yer mansion now.” Victor grinned at her eye roll. She was a good girl, a perfect pick to take over the Sanctuary outside of Vancouver. If she’d been one of those uptight society types, they wouldn’t have gotten along so well. “So ya like this work, huh? Beats bein’ a waitress?”

“I love it. The Sanctuary is thriving and so are we.”

At the last maybe two thousand feet up yet to go, they left the vehicle and driver and set off on foot alone. Since Victor didn’t bring anything past a battered black denim duffel bag, there were no camels ready to carry luggage like bellhops. His companion cheerfully told him how surprised she’d been by that when she had arrived with a suitcase.

“Yeah, they try not t’ have vehicle noise ‘round tha retreat proper, which I ‘preciate. Ya probly don’t notice it but with ears like mine, most o’ tha world is a dire racket all tha damn time.”

When she reached for his hand, he let her hold it as they walked. She had a decent height to her, so it wasn’t awkward as it had been sometimes with Tabitha.

A ghost of missing his former almost-mate went through him followed by missing their cub. He guarded that feeling carefully out of habit. Silas was a treasure his enemies would enjoy taking from him. Liane knew about him, of course.

“Are you okay, Victor?”

“M’fine.”

Taking that in stride as she usually did, he knew she wasn’t really fooled. The loneliness that often plagued him threatened the peace this place usually offered. Slowly, he tried to make his tensed shoulders relax. He wanted to talk about his cub – needed to. He didn’t know why it was supposed to help but those who knew of the child’s existence were always telling him it could. With a hard swallow to shove down the instinctive growl over being vulnerable in any way, he tried again. At least his voice managed to sound steady.

“Thinkin’ how much tha boy would love this place – or I hope he would.”

Her warm smile was kind without a hint of pity. “He’d love it – any kid would.”

As they arrived at the retreat proper, surrounded by spectacular views over the Great Rift Valley’s Mukutan Gorge, Victor paused and took in deep breaths, visibly relaxing. Liane smiled up at him as he embraced her, kissing her forehead.

“I wish I could enjoy things like you do,” she said in a wistful tone. “What do you scent up here?”

“Palms, vines, orchids, all manner o’ critters – fer a start. This here’s tha Ol Ari Nyiro ranch, round 90,000 acres or better o’ pure wilderness west o’ Laikipia, surrounded by tha East African Highlands. One o’ tha few unspoiled places left I’d call paradise. Tha owner, conservationist an’ author Kuki Gallmann, is one o’ tha best humans I ever met fer keepin’ it all protected.”

“She’s a hero of mine these days. I just finished reading her autobiography _I Dreamed of Africa_ before this trip. She isn’t home, now, unfortunately.”

“Huh. Ya did yer homework.” He winked at her. “We can catch ‘er ‘nother time on a vacation trip an’ bring Mya. Ain’t seen ‘er in a while, myself.”

“I’d like that. I didn’t realize you knew her personally, but I’m not surprised.”

Victor let Liane lead him to her suite in one of three large traditional guest huts built of local stone, papyrus cedar, and olive woods. The huts looked like native African rondavels arranged around a central fireplace. The retreat could house up to six or eight guests, but Liane had had the place to herself beyond the hosts and cook currently working there.

He listened to her talk about horse and camel rides, picnics, and swimming in waterfalls and hot springs. She clearly loved traveling now that her new job had given her the opportunity.

Entering the rondavel, his gaze swept approvingly over the antique Swahili, Lamu, and Indian furniture chosen by the owner. Kuki Gallmann had brought textiles from around Africa and India for the sofas, beds, and cushions. He’d been here before but never with this quality of company. Even after staying in the rustically opulent suite for over a week, Liane still seemed awed by it.

The huge king size canopied bed dominated the stone and papyrus thatch hut on one side. It had smooth tree trunk posts and was surrounded by beautiful glass and brass lamps with lit candles nestled into the stones. The overall effect was of a cave spruced up with bohemian luxuries.

On the other side of the fireplace – a huge stone affair with its own thatch roof around the flue – a spacious sitting area was spread out. This was lit by more candles and hurricane lamps. The retreat didn’t have electricity but kept solar panels for power. Water for baths was heated by thermal springs underneath the place.

There were no windows, just open spaces between stone, wood, and thatched roof – allowing all the myriad scents of the wilderness right in to mingle with the golden glow of the candles. A private balcony with a stout wood couch covered in pads and pillows waited in the slowly fading sunlight.

 _Tony might hate it – too rustic by half._ The thought made him smile as he imagined the inventor trying to leave the solar panels alone.

Liane was pouring him a glass of Glenfiddich that she hadn’t opened until he arrived. When she offered it to him, he smiled at her. Her heat was already affecting him, but he intended to treat her better than his usual companions. She wasn’t just a name on a list and worth more than a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am tryst.

“Take a drink – hold it in yer mouth an’ kiss me.”

She was trembling a little when he took the scotch from her mouth to swallow it, and then kissed her with passion. Taking the glass from her hand before she dropped it, he downed it all and set it aside. Picking her up, he carried her out to the balcony and sat on the couch with her on his lap.

Getting his fingers into her soft brunette hair, he took out the clip she’d piled it all up in and held her as he buried his face in it to kiss the side of her throat.

“So tell me what tha prob is,” he whispered behind her ear.

“Now? I don’t want to interrupt this mood with shop talk – you might go bounding down the hills to fight the good fight.”

Victor chuckled. “Not before I mate ya, guaranteed. T’morrow’s soon ‘nuff.”

He kissed her again and then turned her on his lap to nestle her back against his chest. The fancy linen shirt and pants she wore – with amusing _Out of Africa_ boots to match – was in peril, but he would try not to shred them. Watching the sun set behind the hills, he listened to her smooth soothing voice.

“Your network of spies that watch out for our animals reported poachers down in Tsavo East National Park, not too many miles from that famous railroad bridge. We’ve placed lions there several times – all before my tenure, of course – but when I was about to place more, I got wind of this. They’ve already killed nearly a hundred lions in the Amboseli-Tsavo ecosystem, most of them speared, some poisoned. Often game scouts who do manage to arrest offenders only end up in trouble with the villages. Most of the villagers are so poor, that feeding the black market animal parts is their only option besides starving to death. Then there are the cattlemen, killing in retaliation for their cows being hunted for prey.”

“Only reason tha lions’re gettin’ int’ tha damn cows is cuz people kill off their natural prey t’ sell as bushmeat. Tha lions ain’t just gettin’ tired o’ chewin’ on antelope, darlin’.”

“Well, of course, but it’s all such an ugly tangle. Maybe I’m just an ex-waitress and single mom from Canada who couldn’t afford college, but the global root problem of poverty and no way to make a decent living honestly is pretty obvious; you don’t have to be a sociologist to see it.”

“Way tha world is goin’, tha bigger picture’s too damn big fer all o’ us t’ tackle, but I’ve killed my share o’ poachers tryin’ t’ mutilate animals an’ run – violence is tha only law some folks ever respect. I ain’t gonna blame somebody fer huntin’ t’ eat, but wipin’ out whole species just so some limp dick across tha water can get a stiffy – that’s gonna get ‘em dead if’n I catch ‘em.”

“Now there are poachers with guns – the trophy hunting types. That gets stickier legally, of course – when the poachers in question are rich white idiots with lawyers.”

Victor growled. “Sounds like that type needs t’ remember tha ol’ man-eater legends o’ 1898.”

“Only if they know it’s something other than lions going after them; otherwise, they’ll feel justified in killing more of them, if they are seen as a threat to people.”

“Natch – so yer on board with me killin’ poachers o’ any nasty stripe?”

“The ones who have money to burn and just want to kill a lion to hang it on their wall?”

“Sure, let’s say that.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“That’s my girl.”

“The staff here has gear for you to wear and take on safari. They said they keep it for your use? From what I’ve seen today, they all seem rather fond of you.”

“Yup. Places like this, it’s in my best interest t’ make friends. Now an’ then, I clear out probs fer ‘em – mostly antsy cattle herders with guns that don’t wanna respect borders. Livestock herds are like locusts, they’d eat places like this down t’ a desert if’n they gotta chance. Lot o’ dirty politics in countries like this – usually full o’ scum wantin’ t’ ruin tha wilds.”

“I know – I hate that, too. Helping save your cats has become a passion for me. I love it. I ended up having the current lions resettled here instead, with Ms. Gallmann’s permission.”

When the sun disappeared, they began to kiss and slowly strip each other in a trail of tailored clothes to the bed. She was as hungry and eager as he was and for a moment, he had to chase off ghosts her soft welcoming heat dredged up.

“I love how you look at me in moments like this.” On her back, legs opening to draw him in, she smiled and sighed when he covered her and began licking her skin. “I brought a bottle of Sylk – just in case.” Her gaze flicked to the small bottle on a shelf by her pillows.

Victor grinned. “All ya had t’ do was ask – easier an’ safer t’ meet up in tha boonies.”

She placed a delicate hand on his chest to slow him down. “I … stopped taking birth control – you said you didn’t mind?”

He drew in a breath and let it out slow before fixing a smile back on to reassure her. “Don’t mind, darlin’, but I’m told … my mutation ain’t a match fer that so often. I’m a bonefide freak, ya know.”

Slender fingertips touched his lips to hush him. “You aren’t a freak, you’re just different. If it is possible, I’d love to bear your child.”

Purring at that, he nuzzled her throat under her hair as he toyed with her breasts. She moved to catch a pointed eartip in her mouth and sucked on it. Pleasure shot through him and made him shiver. The moment she released it, he had to shove his cock into her wet heat with a grunt.

Liane arched her body and gasped, arms and legs embracing around him as he thrust inside her.

“Ain’t gonna need lube – not if yer game t’ try fer cubs. Yer so wet fer me…”

“I always will be,” she promised in a whisper.

Victor tried not to think about it; the possibility had become so remote that Tabitha’s pregnancy had shocked him. Having a mate who could bear his cubs and who also wanted to remain his mate hadn’t been in the cards for him. They either didn’t stay or only came around when they wanted to use him.

Both, fer Raven – didn’t even tell me we had a cub, then let ‘im grow up hatin’ us both, hatin’ all mutants. Nasty usin’ cunt. I wouldn’t have cared he wasn’t a mutant – t’ ‘er, that made ‘im a waste o’ space – ‘er own cub. Shaking his head to dismiss the angry thoughts, he tried to let Liane’s body help him forget that mess.

“You feel so amazing, my god…” she murmured. “I’ve missed you, missed this…”

He didn’t answer but thrust harder to feel her cling to him, loving the cut of her fingernails into the flesh of his back.

They mated as often as he could start again until she finally passed out on him. He curled around her with one arm flung over her body and nuzzled his face into her hair. He didn’t dare sleep, afraid of nightmares that could ruin the peace he wanted to wallow in with this remarkable woman.

Jungle sounds and her even deep breathing soothed his restless thoughts and he let his feral nature drift in stronger as he made plans for the hunt to come.

~ ~ ~

Sometime before dawn, Liane woke in his arms and smiled when she saw him watching her. One delicate hand lifted to stroke a furry sideburn. The pad of her thumb ran across his lower lip and up a thick long fang. Victor shivered in pleasure at the touch.

“Did you sleep?”

“Didn’t try. Easier to nap in the day than at night, anyhow,” he added, answering her concerned expression.

“We should get you in a hot bath to relax then – but first…”

He let her loose when she pushed at his arm and smirked as she reached for the bottle of Sylk and rolled to her belly. Looking back at him with a shy smile, she whispered, “I missed this, too.”

Without a word, he purred and began to spread her asscheeks with fingers, licking into her with his long tongue. Her sweet pussy was dripping, but he hadn’t sucked or licked it clean, leaving all that seed right where she wanted it. They had already made an impressive mess of the bedding and a little more wouldn’t make much difference now.

By the time he had worked her open with fingers and tongue she was writhing but didn’t speak with words. She’d figured out that moans and cries ramped him up faster. Any way she wanted him was good but the thought of cubs sparked feelings deep within both man and beast that he wasn’t sure he wanted to look at too closely.

When the mating was done, she slipped away and he let her escape with just a low gruff growl of complaint.

“Might need a nap after all,” he muttered, shooting her a lopsided smile. “Safer with ya at a distance, t’ be honest.”

“I understand. I’ll have a bath and then get our breakfast order in for later.”

With a grunt of agreement, he closed his eyes and drifted off in a soothing cloud of their mating scents.

~ ~ ~

Set in a rock ledge warmed by the sun and open to the air like the rest, the suite’s bathtub was a marvel. Some of the taps were mounted in the stones and water from the thermal springs felt delicious on his skin. He could reach out and touch the leaves of the plants and shrubs that grew along the outer ledge, and the tub was big enough to stretch out his long legs.

Liane sat on the side of the tub in a sleeveless and shapeless pretty linen dress. It had a pattern of leaves and flowers that could have doubled as camouflage a little farther down the mountain. The staff had probably gifted it to her.

His companion was as skilled as ever at moving around a room without disturbing his sleep. Going by the sun’s position in the sky, he had napped through the normal breakfast time.

“They’ll bring breakfast when you’re ready,” she replied to his raised eyebrow.

“Gonna accuse ya o’ bein’ a brain snoop next,” he teased. “Gettin’ t’ learn my ways pretty good, huh?”

“That’s my plan.”

When she reached into the hot water to grasp and stroke his cock, too lightly to really wake it up, he relaxed into a feral puddle.

“How’d ya fig that trick out?” he muttered, nearly lulled back into sleep.

“I cheated and asked Lenusya – not ashamed to admit it.”

Victor’s chuckle was lazy, his eyes closing as he took in the swirling scents around them. A mix of birdsong distracted him for a moment before she spoke again.

“Tell me something about this place – and yes, I just want to hear you talk. I love your voice.”

A smile spread over his lips. “Ol Ari Nyiro means ‘tha Place o’ Springs’ in tha local Maa language. Mukutan means ‘tha meetin’’ cuz it’s where all tha hills meet up. Tha Mukutan Gorge is sorta an ancient spiritual place ... respected.”

“Do you know any African languages or just a few words?”

“I know some parts o’ a few o’ ‘em but forgot more. Know more Swahili but I’m a bit rusty. Usually when I’m here, I’m where humans don’t go … but those places’re gettin’ scarce.”

~ ~ ~

After breakfast was attacked and devoured with a gusto that defied forks, he shed his bathrobe and dressed for a hunt in khaki pants and a tan t-shirt topped by a light green military jacket. A brown leather version of his usual custom black boots capped off one end and a pale green Shemagh style cotton scarf around his neck topped off the other end. Everything fit perfectly with room to run and fight; these folks knew their business.

His sunglasses sat on top of a khaki backpack next to a professional camera in a fancy leather case, which he’d had included just for show. Liane hadn’t fussed about his plan to not take along any weapon besides himself – she really was figuring him out.

Victor sat still and quiet on the couch inside their suite as she braided his long hair and wound it in a bun with a strip of soft leather. When she finished, he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her.

Toying with the little knotted tassels on the scarf, she smiled up at him. “It’s weird to see you not draped in black.”

“Black an’ most other dark colors attract tsetse flies out here – nasty bitin’ li’l fuckers. Scarf’s fer not breathin’ a pound o’ dust – also hides tha fangs, if’n I need t’.”

“So you’re a pro at this, and I shouldn’t worry.”

“Ya really shouldn’t, darlin’ – ain’t nothin’ in this whole continent that can bring me down.”

“I think I managed it relatively easily,” she teased him with a smirk.

“Beds don’t count.” He kissed her soundly and set her on her feet.

“I’ve had your suit and dress shoes sent down to the jet. Feel free to wear that one the next time you come to visit me.”

“Stick ‘round, darlin’ – enjoy takin’ off tha whole collection … eventually.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

For the walk out and down to the waiting vehicle, he held her hand when she reached for his.

~ ~ ~

Victor settled in the driver’s seat as the regular driver rode shotgun.

Liane leaned in close to his open window. “So you already know the trick to driving the British way?”

“Yup.”

“I’d end up in the ocean. I wish I could go with you.”

Victor snorted as she shaded her eyes to look in at him. “No ya don’t – gonna get bloody an’ I don’t want ya gettin’ shot by some asshole.”

“I could tag along at least down to the jet? I could even hitch a ride to Nairobi with you, fly home early.”

“Ya got ‘nother few days here, darlin’ – ya know it ain’t safe t’ travel with me.”

“I know,” she answered, and sighed. “When will I see you in person again?”

“Dunno, but we can figure out somethin’. Ya were ‘sposed t’ get a boyfriend, though.” Her sweet laughter made him smirk.

“I told you that you’re a hard act to follow. Meeting someone more interesting than you would be a feat. I promised and I’ll stand by it – if sparks fly, I won’t ‘turn down a yes for a maybe’ as you keep telling me.”

“Just make sure he ain’t wearin’ an X.”

“No X, got it.” Still smiling, she leaned in closer through the window. “Do I get a kiss goodbye, Mr. Maybe?”

“Didn’t I already kiss ya silly?” He grinned at her.

“You weren’t leaving then, you are now.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied and leaned closer to comply.

~ ~ ~

The flight to Nairobi was uneventful. The mission hit the first snag when their contact wasn’t ready with the safari vehicle. Deciding to wait it out in a dive bar, since he needed to arrive in Tsavo at night anyway, he and Zane hustled pool to fleece tourists for fun.

A television over the bar was put on CNN at his gruff request. Taking a whiskey break a few hours later, he stopped stabbing peanuts from the bowl in front of him and looked up sharply at the screen when a reporter mentioned Tony Stark – disrupting the Senate Armed Services Committee in Washington D.C.

The bartender frowned and moved to change the channel.

“Touch it an’ lose an arm,” Victor threatened with a growl behind his words.

It was still morning in D.C., eight hours behind him in Kenya. He managed to keep his poker face on instead of staring up at the TV like an amused idiot as Tony was shown aggravating a bunch of senators. The text on the bottom of the screen said Stark was at the Weaponized Suit Defense Program Hearings. The man clearly owned the entire room while sporting a bespoke suit that could only be called sexual.

“I’m not a joiner,” Tony remarked to Senator Stern, “but I’ll consider Secretary of Defence, if you ask nice. We can amend the hours a little bit.”

Victor chuckled and ended up laughing aloud when Tony turned their screens against them and showed the committee and everyone at the hearing just how inept other countries were at trying to duplicate the Iron Man suits.

Sparring with the senator, Tony spoke up for the whole room, “The point is, you’re welcome, I guess.”

Senator Stern spluttered, “For what?”

“Because – I’m your nuclear deterrant. It’s working. We’re safe. America is secure. You want my property? You can’t have it. But I did you a big favor.” He stood up and turned to face the crowd. “I’ve successfully privatized world peace.” He held up his hands to make peace signs as everyone began to stand, cheer, and applaud – including many military leaders in the crowd. “What more do you want? For now! I tried to play ball with these ass-clowns,” he told the applauding crowd, pointing back at the committee of senators.

The news cameras didn’t miss the half-amused Lt. Col. Rhodes and the over-it-all Pepper Pots farther back. Victor sneered at their images on the screen. Tony had put his sunglasses on and blew kisses from each hand to the senators as an F-bomb bleeped Stern adjourned them all. Moments later, Tony was directly addressing a camera, effectively looking out at the world.

“My bond is with the people,” he announced. “And I will serve this great nation at the pleasure of myself. If there’s one thing I’ve proven it’s that you can count on me – to pleasure myself.” With a little amused twist of his body, he dipped out of frame.

Still chuckling as the reporters moved on to something else, Victor turned and caught sight of Zane talking to their contact at the door. He snorted in amusement when he heard his pilot saying they needed to wait a moment.

 _He knows a Tony Stark sightin’s a treat not t’ be upstaged by business or anythin’ else. Good man._ Tossing back the rest of his drink, Victor rose from the barstool and went to join them.

~ ~ ~

The Land Rover Defender 10 was yellow with black fenders and hardware and far more rugged than the luxury version used at the resort to transport guests to and from their airstrip. It had a snorkel on the side of the windshield, allowing cool and dry clean air to enter into the engine for water crossings or avoiding dust being sucked into the engine on dirt roads. A full-size spare tire was mounted on its hood, and it was outfitted with towing cables as well.

He didn’t bother with speaking to the contact or the man’s people, leaving it all to Zane to sort out. Tossing his gear into the vehicle before climbing in, he hooked the sunglasses to hang from his shirt under the scarf as his pilot came up to the driver’s door.

“All set, Boss. Give me a shout when you’re coming back in, I’ll have everything ready.”

“Natch, see ya then.”

Zane gave the door a slap and grinned before turning away. “Happy hunting!” he called out.

Victor drove away and tried not to think about Tony until he got clear of civilization. The temptation to try calling him on the satellite phone in his backpack came and went.

_Didn’t look sick on tha TV, but ya know he is. Fuck. Fig it out, ya genius idiot._

As the Land Rover ate up the miles, Victor tried to enjoy the trip. He would have preferred to travel without the vehicle but speed and arriving in peak condition was more important than his preference to cover the miles on his own paws. It was a little over five hours by car down the Mombasa Road/A109 to reach Tsavo East National Park. He gassed up in Mtito Andei and then headed on into Tsavo.

Once he arrived, he found the appropriately named Man Eaters Camp and parked. It was a lodge now, but he didn’t bother to go in. Leaving everything where it was, including his boots and all the clothes except for the pants, he headed out to get the lay of the land in the dark.

Following various animal scent trails, it took some time to get far enough away for the smells of the camp and his vehicle to fade. He detected no lions as he went but tracking other creatures would help him find them before long. When he finally caught an old scent trail, he checked the direction it was going and then continued to hunt for anything else of interest – especially the smell of anything human.

At sunrise, he returned to the Land Rover and dressed in his safari clothes again, winding the scarf around his neck without covering his face. He grabbed the camera out of its case and set it on the passenger seat in front of his backpack and drove off. The few people he saw around the camp got scarce the moment they got a look at him.

He spent the entire day driving around, taking pictures of animals and scenery. He’d let Liane have the photos eventually, since she’d probably enjoy them. For him, they were just a cover story. He wanted to be seen and several people did spot him – mostly locals and a few tourists. Not one of them approached or hailed him.

By dusk, he moved on to reach the Tsavo Railroad Bridge. Just off the main A109 road nearby, he parked the vehicle behind an abandoned structure. A ramshackle broken fence bordered it for a few dozen feet. Jumping out to search the area, he took more photos to let passing cars notice him until the sunset ended, covering him in darkness. Going back to the Land Rover, he dropped into the driver’s seat and put the camera up. Waiting for a moment to sniff the air, he started up the engine and drove off across the scrub brush toward the Tsavo River with his headlights off. He didn’t need them.

The vehicle took the rough terrain without a hitch and made short work of the river crossing. After climbing the bank, he parked among the trees on the other side. He strolled off to walk across the infamous bridge, balancing without effort on one of the metal rails in his boots.

_1898, tha Brits wanted a railway bridge over this river an’ they didn’t feel obliged t’ give it up just cuz a pair o’ maneless lions killed an’ ate ‘bout 140 workers from tha Ugandan Railway in less’n three months. Huge cats, one o’ ‘em nine feet, six inches long nose t’ tail tip an’ stood nearly four feet tall. So natch, they gotta badass bwana t’ hunt an’ kill ‘em: John Henry Paterson, the chief engineer o’ tha bridge project. Big hero, huh. Killer o’ tha Man Eaters o’ Tsavo. Well, that second brute nearly got ‘im. If’n that smug limey bastard had crossed my path back in tha day, I woulda eaten ‘im fer my Christmas dinner – with only ‘is own natural sauces fer flavor._

Victor crossed the bridge and then turned on a heel and walked back over it. Stopping in the center, he crouched down with one hand on an old wood rail tie, scenting and listening. The river below, its brown water slicing endlessly across the vast land, whispered softly to him as it went.

Finally, his ears twitching and head moving to catch every sound, he let out a snort and rose. _Woolgatherin’ an’ moonin’ ‘bout tha last century ain’t gonna get me what I came fer. Saddle up, asshole._

He left the headlights off when he drove away, letting his ears and nose be his guide. Other vehicles on A109 in the distance were sparse as it got later until he finally left the road far behind him.

~ ~ ~

The first promising scents led to others until he finally got a lock on what he was hunting for. It wasn’t lions, although they weren’t far off by his reckoning. Finding another handy group of trees to park his vehicle in the middle of, he stripped down to bare clawed feet and pants and stalked off into the dark – following the scents of metal, fuel, cigarettes, alcohol, and sweating flesh.

When he found them, he couldn’t muster a bit of surprise to find four obviously rich white males with fancy new rifles. Two of them were nearly drunk, the smallest one looked like he might faint from fear, and the last one – the biggest and stone-cold sober – seemed disgusted by his fellows.

_That’ll be bwana – tha one t’ watch. Although tha scared shitless ones can be trigger-happy, too._

A short distance away beyond the light of the dim electric lantern on a truck hood, two scrappy-looking young male villager types sat flat-footed on their haunches.

_None o’ these assholes got tha gear o’ an official guide. Same ol’ story – fly int’ tha country, rent some vehicles an’ locals t’ show ‘em where t’ go, then snatch an’ grab some trophies. Maybe they poison some meat first t’ make tha prey weak, even poison tha fuckin’ vultures t’ hide their crimes, then they go home with a swagger like they’re big bad hunters. Villagers are riskin’ their lives fer this, probly gonna get paid a few coins._

Why they had stopped to drink prior to hunting wasn’t a mystery – most humans needed to prop up their courage before they did anything risky, especially the stupid ones.

Thinking of what Liane had said about poverty in the villages, Victor made a choice he might not have bothered with otherwise. Nodding to himself, he circled around their little group, more silent than the light warm breeze that moved the tall yellow grass.

By the time the rich men, all clearly Americans, began to speak about how fast the poisoned meat would be found, Victor had already caught the stench of it. He moved away to find it before anything else did.

_That’s Furadan, by tha scent. Carbofuran, a carbamate pesticide fer crops – nasty shit, neurotoxic._

In the middle of finding the goat carcass, the small lion pride he had scented earlier found him. One male, young but strong, and his pair of tawny lionesses hung back – clearly not sure what to make of him. They were not cats he had known but that didn’t mean he couldn’t communicate with them.

The male finally growled and rushed up in a mock charge, but Victor simply stood his ground on all fours, amber slitted eyes in a locked stare with the golden eyes of the lion. When he let loose his own warning growl, they all went still. Before long, after some tentative sniffing and chuffing growls, he was sitting with them – one arm protecting the carcass from being taken.

After a short wait, they began to move off, too wary of him to try stealing the meat he had claimed. The breeze told them all there were other animals to hunt. With a final low growl, he picked up the poisoned goat carcass by the back legs, slowly rose to his feet, and carried it back toward the humans.

Victor took a few moments sizing up the prey. The urge to rip them up and tear their throats and guts out had to be sat on. He was well aware that his fangs and claws in human flesh would make others believe lions had attacked. That wouldn’t help the big cats one bit.

He crouched lower, letting his clawed toes slice up the dirt and long grasses as he gripped the goat, ready to sling it at them.

Letting loose a roar that would make their ribs vibrate, he hurled the carcass at the skinny man. It struck him full in the chest and knocked him off the tailgate of the truck to fall in a screaming heap on the ground, tangled in the bloody legs.

Long before the big man opened fire on the space Victor had been in, he was already leaping onto another poacher. He landed on the thigh of one of the drunk men, his full 375 Adamantiam-laced pounds shattering the femur into bloody debris. Shrieking in pain, the man curled up around the injury, as useless as the weapon mere feet away that he had utterly forgotten.

Victor kicked the rifle away from him and let out another ear-splitting roar as bullets slammed into his chest in a spray pattern from the biggest and littlest men at once. Keeping his claws and fangs out of their flesh became a twist of frustration that smashing their bones would barely appease.

Tearing the weapon away from the big man’s grip, he used it to open fire on their other drunk friend. Twisting his body fast, he didn’t bother to shoot the big guy – he stabbed the rifle’s barrel into his abdomen instead.

One hand gripped a shoulder, clawtips pricking the skin. Leering right in the man’s face, he hissed. “Fuck ya t’ hell, asshole.” With a grunt, he shoved it deeper up to the trigger guard as the muzzle was punched through the flesh of the back, breaking ribs along its gory path.

Letting the corpse fall, he grinned to see it propped up for a moment by the rifle before it tipped and hit the grass. Turning to face the little coward, he locked stares with him.

The man Victor had shot was also dead, but the one with the broken femur was still alive. His screams and wails echoed across the wildlands around them.

“S-s-stay back!” the runt of the litter cried out, his hands trembling so hard, he’d probably shoot the truck behind him sooner than Victor in front of him.

The pair of young men from the local village had bolted, but Victor could smell them hiding behind the truck. He could feel the terrified eyes on him, hear and scent their hot rapid breaths.

Casual about it, Victor lifted curling long claws to his chest and cut out one of the slugs, letting the smashed bit of metal fall. He heard the gasps as the flesh healed. Displaying his mutant gift for them all, he cut the bullets out and dropped each of them between his feet.

“Ya ain’t got what it’d take t’ even make me slow down while I kill ya,” he told the skinny man.

“W-why?” He swallowed hard and tried again. “Why are you attacking us?”

“I like my lions alive.” With the back of one hand, he wiped the dripping saliva from his mouth and let a broad toothy grin stretch wide. “Yer poachin’ illegally, one – usin’ poisoned meat like stinkin’ cowards, two … an’ ya waste tha meat ya kill just takin’ tha trophy bits, three. Not t’ mention all tha other critters an’ vultures ya’d kill when they get a nibble o’ what’s left behind.”

The idiot got smarter by zipping his lips after that, but the rifle was still pointed at Victor, even if it was twitching in the pathetic fool’s shaking hands.

“Now ya gotta choice. Yer buddy with tha broke leg’s gonna die ugly, lessen ya put ‘im outta ‘is misery with a bullet. Me, I plan t’ let ‘im die ugly if’n ya don’t. Then I’m gonna kill ya anyhow. Tha exact nasty o’ how I kill ya is gonna vary by whether yer dumb ‘nuff t’ shoot me again.” He raised his voice to call out to the watching villagers, “Ya skulkers best stay where ya are, too. Decided t’ let ya live but if’n ya run, I’ll hunt ya down an’ eat ya, got it?”

“I can’t shoot him,” the skinny poacher whispered. “I won’t.”

The warm night air trembled with tension and the pathetic mewlings of the broken man. Victor laughed and took a deliberate step closer. The cracking report of the rifle firing and the thick slap of a bullet sinking into the meat of Victor’s shoulder only made him laugh louder.

“Lordy fuck, yer momma made one stupid sonovabitch, didn’t she? Hoo yeah! Here we go, motherfucker!”

Snatching the weapon away from him before he could fire it again, Victor reached out a long arm and snapped both legs below the knees when the man tried to turn and run. Lifting the rifle in his hands, he turned away and stepped up to the one he’d maimed first.

Big wide eyes, like some parody of a deer in headlights, stared up at him. “Please, I have a family…” he begged.

“Yeah? Do they know yer a coward who pretends t’ be a hunter – a jackass who poisons animals, cuts off their heads an’ paws an’ then leaves tha bodies t’ rot? Fuck yer family – probly better off without yer sorry ass.”

If the man had shown an ounce of fight, he might have been worthy prey. Yet the terror in those eyes as the muzzle of the rifle was set between them made the undeserved gesture of mercy worth it.

He watched the skull explode with a gleeful light in his slitted eyes. Some of the larger pieces had brain matter on them where they fell.

Tossing the rifle down onto the corpse, he went back to the skinny one with a jolly smile on his lips. “Olly olly oxen free,” he called to the villagers in a deceptively sweet croon. “Get out here an’ help with this last one an’ I’ll let ya go home whole an’ hale.”

Watching them slip from the cover of the truck, Victor set his foot on the skinny poacher’s back, showing off the gleaming metal claws on his toes in the feeble lamp light.

“Ya understand English?”

Neither of them dared to speak but the quick nods were good enough.

“Fetch me tha poison they used – it’s in tha bed o’ tha truck. Don’t spill that shit an’ don’t touch it, neither. Other guy grabs tha lamp outta my way.”

They obeyed as if in a daze. Both of them had seen him heal. Did they have a clue what he was?

After opening the passenger door of the truck, Victor pinned his ears at the volume of the screams as he hauled the last man up and dumped him on the long vinyl seat with his broken legs swinging oddly from the edge at a diagonal slant over the footwell. Reaching in to fist fingers in the safari clothes, he dragged him into a sitting position. The pathetic wretch tried to struggle but Victor easily pried his mouth open with one hand.

“Open tha bag an’ give it here.”

When the plastic sack was set on his open outstretched palm, he sheathed his claws and got a good grip. Mindful of keeping the granuals inside the cab, he gleefully poured a hell of a lot of it straight into the man’s open mouth.

The little pebble-like grains were purple in his enhanced nightvision, but to his terrified helpers, they probably looked like black sand.

“There we go,” he intoned with an encouraging purr under his words. He set the rest of the bag in the footwell and shoved it under the seat, jostling the swinging boots.

He shut the mouth and stroked fingertips down the throat to make the poacher swallow like giving a pill to a dog. Watching him finally swallow and choke, Victor shoved him down to the seat before letting him go to scrabble at his throat and jerk his limbs around. Chuckling, he slammed the door shut to contain the mess as the human began to thrash with seizures and lose control of his bladder and bowels.

“That shit’s neurotoxic,” he told his trembling audience, “but this asshole ain’t gonna live long ‘nuff t’ notice tha diff’rence.” He watched through the window as the body convulsed until it became a corpse like the rest. “Okay fellas, set tha lantern on tha hood before ya scoot on home, now.” They obeyed and then began edging backward away from him. “Tell yer village what ya saw an’ heard, eh? Assholes killin’ my lions are gonna get killed back.”

Ignoring them as they set off into the night – trying not to run like they understood it might entice him to chase – Victor busied himself with picking up the other bodies and dumping them onto the bed of the truck along with their rifles.

Hands already bloody from handling his victims, he got them soaking with it and then moved to the windshield. Snickering at the idea of fingerpainting in blood, he spelled out the word Poachers. Snagging a rag from the truck bed, he wiped his fingers and hands dry as he stood off to the side and watched the letters drip.

He fetched the poisoned goat last and tossed it in the cab with the rest of the garbage, sealed up and safe where no scavengers could be harmed by the pesticide. The vultures were welcome to feast on the morons piled in the bed. One-handed, he lifted the tailgate and shut it with a loud thunk.

 _Don’t smell like rain anytime soon. Maybe my li’l message will stay or it won’t – tha mess is gonna be ‘nuff message fer lots o’ folks t’ get tha hint._ Glancing down at his scarlet-stained hands, he grunted and popped claws. _Make it stick fer all weather. Then they can’t just wash it an’ take tha truck._

The metal of the vehicle made hideous squeaking scrape sounds as he scratched his message into it on all sides. Moving the lantern closer to the windshield, he dug one claw deeper in a large circle of unconnected slashes so the metal wouldn’t just fall in onto the engine. Grinning, he cut in the eyes and mouth of his signature smiley face.

 _Gonna be lotsa government acronym fuckers that know that callin’ card by now._ He smirked at Liane’s worries. _Well, no-fuckin’-body can say lions filled those motherless asswipes full o’ lead an’ then piled ‘em in a truck. Plus lions can’t spell. Mission accomplished. Time t’ play._

Victor left the camp lantern shining on the hood and walked off. He returned to his Land Rover and moved it far enough away to not be found if anyone discovered the truck. Finally, he got out and followed a scent trail to return to the lions. Finding them easily, he loped off with them to hunt under the stars.

~ ~ ~

They mostly ignored him until he managed to slip around a herd of wildebeest and then jumped out to flush the scrambling animals right into the claws and teeth of the pair of lionesses. They caught a big one, barely able to drag it down, and then Victor pounced and crashed into it from the side, knocking it clean off its hooves.

Backing off with just his claws in the ribs, he helped the females hold it down. Then the male rushed in, opened his jaws, and snatched the beast’s muzzle. With one huge paw on the face to hold it still, he suffocated it. When it stopped struggling, the male released the mouth and nostrils.

Having no need to challenge him, Victor waited for him to begin eating first, and only joined in when the females did.

Claws were faster but he didn’t bother with them much. He got his face right in there and bit with his fangs, worked a rib free, shattered the bone with his jaws, and hauled it off a foot or so away to eat.

Licking the rib with far less care than he took with human bedmates, the barbs on his tongue easily rasped the meat off. When it was licked clean, he cracked the bone and got at the marrow.

As the lions ate, he sat close by and crunched at the rib bone as he listened to the herd running off in the distance. His long tongue cleaned some of the blood off his face, but the sideburns would be stained with it until he found some water to wash in.

One of the lionesses, the younger one, rubbed against his shoulder as she moved to another spot on the kill. A soft smile tugged at his crimson lips as he watched them all feed. There wouldn’t be much left for the stragglers that would come after.

The male was very young and had probably been a nomad driven away from his original birth pride. Both females were older than him but not by that much – likely the pair of them had left a daughter pride to strike off on their own. They were lucky to have found each other. If they remained in this area, they could do very well – especially while his recent lesson was fresh in the minds of the locals.

As eating gave way to resting beside the kill until they were ready to eat more of it, Victor happily stretched out in the long grass with them for a time. The rib had been a good treat, but he wouldn’t take more. They needed the meat more than he did.

 _What a life._ He rolled onto his back, one clawed hand lazily toying with the grass near his bloody face. _Take tha useless humans out o’ tha mix an’ it’d be paradise. Don’t even hafta fuss with tha flies at night._

Mere feet away, his new companions were napping. Now and then, a fuzzy tail tip would slap the grass. Not for the first time, he felt a little odd twinge of jealousy that his mutation had never bothered to give him a tail – even the stubby variety his namesake had.

Snorting at himself in amusement, he twisted his body to scratch his back against the rough grass. _Got tha fangs an’ claws – an’ a jaw that can cope with ‘em – way more useful._

When they did rouse themselves to eat again a few hours later, he left them. Loping away in a feral crouch, he paused to look back once at the beautifully savage sight of them. The older lioness looked up for a moment, her furry face as bloody as his. Meeting her stare, he let out a short low chuffing growl.

Abrupt and unexpected, he realized why he had stopped – he didn’t want to leave them. Theirs was a life he could so easily sink into and drop every other troubling thought and problem behind him.

_Could tha nightmares an’ tha mess follow me there? If I really let go an’ let tha inner kitty take tha wheel?_

Growling at the idiotic notion, he forced himself to turn away, straightened up to his full height, and walked off, heading back to his ride.

_Hidin’ never solved nothin’ – oughta know that shit by now. ‘Sides, better option would be tha jungle off in tha Congo, really Tarzan it up. Fewer humans … sometimes. Bastards._

By the time he reached the vehicle, the last bit of rib bone in his teeth had been worried into a rough toothpick and he used it as one before crunching it down and swallowing it.

Caneen water got the worst of the blood off his muzzle and he sucked his fingers clean before drinking the rest. Pulling on the socks, boots, and the rest of his safari clothes with a mild grumble, he got into the driver’s seat and started the Land Rover up. He drove out of the group of scrub trees he’d hidden it in and on a whim, headed out away from Nairobi.

He made one stop before returning to the A109 highway. Parking the vehicle and turning it off in the middle of nowhere, he sat still and watched the night sky and the darkness around him, soaking up the wilds. The stars were an immense bright canopy overhead, without the lights of civilization to dim and obliterate them.

After an hour or so, he sighed and fished out the satellite phone to call his pilot. He woke the man up, but he was ready for anything in moments, as always.

“Change o’ plan – not drivin’ all tha way back t’ Nairobi, they can get their vehicle back out in Mombasa. Fly down t’ Moi International in tha mornin’. I’m gonna go down t’ Diani Beach fer a bit. We can head out from Moi after that. Come out t’ tha hotel if’n ya wanna talk schedule. Ya know tha one I like.”

~ ~ ~

A109 turned into A14 as he drove out to the small and elegant Seaclusion Diani hotel. They knew him there and no one commented if they noticed the tinges of red in his blond sideburns. He booked a room, scrubbed everything clean in a scalding hot shower, and stretched out over the low king bed for a good nap.

In the morning after breakfast in his room, he had a porter bring him the loudest swim trunks they could find in town. They turned out to be orange and covered with black geometric lines and dancing yellow bananas.

A waitress at the bar was more than happy to braid his hair for him and then he set out for a day at the beach. The Indian Ocean was a gorgeous green and blue jewel with white sand beaches and not too many people.

 _Perfect._ Grinning, he got his toes in the wet sand and went walking along the light surf.

~ ~ ~

Zane greeted him at the hotel bar that afternoon with a surprising bit of news as he took the barstool next to the pilot. The bartender brought them pricey hootch with two glasses and got scarce.

“Did you know your Tin Man donated his art collection to the Boy Scouts over the weekend?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, and Lenusya told me your rumor mill spies are saying he made that assistant Potts the new CEO, too – his successor, no less. That hasn’t even been publicly announced yet. The information was leaked by some clerk typing paperwork for a notary at the Stark Industries legal department.”

“Busy weekend.” Victor growled. The news sounded like a man giving away all of his toys in a hurry. “Ya bring my phone?”

Zane plucked it out of his own pants pocket and handed it over. “It’s a good thing he can’t see you, Boss. Those shorts are damn noisy. Bananas, huh?”

Victor smirked as he hit the inventor’s speed dial. “He’d get a kick out o’ ‘em. What day is it?”

“April twenty-sixth.”

“Huh. Schedule get any thicker while I was out?”

“You have a few fresh options to add if you want to take them on. One new potential client is in Gotham – sounds like a job you’d like. Schedule is tight, though; we’d have to shove it in sideways and fly straight there.”

“Been a while, could be fun. Not like tha Tin Man’s gonna invite me t’ ‘is next shindig. Set it up.”

Zane nodded. “You got it.” Knowing Victor would doggedly try to get through to Stark, he downed his drink and stood. “If you’re staying the night, I might go find my own entertainment?”

“Do it. We can aim at t’morrow evenin’ fer lift off.”

He watched his friend head out with a cheery wave, amused to catch a few ladies in the bar checking out the man’s tight jeans and ripped muscles under the _Magnum P.I._ shirt. It wasn’t the first time he felt annoyed that the pilot only played for the one team.

Victor thought about finding his own fun of the female variety, but he knew his heart wasn’t in it – which meant his dick likely wouldn’t be, either.

It took a few tries to get Tony but he finally picked up, sounding breezy and busy as usual.

“Heard ‘bout tha Boy Scouts stunt an’ ya tappin’ Pepper t’ be CEO – anythin’ ya wanna tell me?”

“Oh, that. She’s still mad about it – the art, that is. I think the new job perks made up for it. I’m fine, it was a weird whim, nothing to worry about, killer.”

Victor swallowed a sigh. Tony would pretend he was fine until he dropped dead. “Was tha promotion a whim, too?”

“Not really, no – sort of had it floating around in the back of my mind. I hate the boardroom side of things and I know I drive her nuts being around me 24/7. Pepper pretty much does all that already, but with having to nail my feet to the floor to make decisions she could just make for us both, I mean, why fight over that stuff? I trust her more than anyone. We still have to do the official paperwork; she’s getting a notary or something from legal. I’d rather spend my time inventing and fighting the good fight. She’ll do great at the job. How did you hear about that?”

“Dedicated stalker o’ all tha tasty Stark rumors,” he replied, bypassing the question. Tony’s voice had turned fond and warm talking about Pepper; it put Victor’s teeth on edge. Just to derail that, he blurted out, “Whatcha want fer yer birthday next month?”

“I’m the guy who has everything already, remember?”

“Missin’ a shit-ton o’ art. Want me t’ steal yer Pollock fingerpaintin’ back fer ya?”

“From the Boy Scouts? Uh, no. I actually agreed with you that it was ugly, if you recall. Kept it for spite? Hey, I get to go on vacation, finally. Before my birthday, but I guess it counts. Monaco. I bought a Formula One race car, like I said I would – going to the Grand Prix in Monte Carlo.”

Leaning low over the bar on his elbows, Victor tried to relax into that bright voice. “Yeah? I like cars,” he teased under a forced smirk.

“Listen, I would say ‘come on down’, but Pepper and Happy are coming with me and that’s –”

“I’m flattered,” Victor cut him off, “but I can’t make it. Work’s a bitch.”

“Right, yeah, probably for the best – media feeding frenzy and all.” Clearly hesitant over Victor’s silence, he added, “It’s blue. The race car. I look good in blue, so…”

“I bet yer ginger handler voted no on ya drivin’ in tha race.”

“Oh, I’m not driving – got a professional driver.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I do, honest. Hey … ah… Where are you right now?”

Sitting up straight again, he tried to play it cool. “Kenya, Diani Beach.”

“Heading out soon?”

Cursing his luck internally for complicating his schedule, he replied, “T’morrow evenin’, stayin’ at tha Seaclusion Diani hotel t’night. They spell it S-E-A.”

“You mentioned that one before – small white hotel, looks like a spaceship? Surprisingly modern for your tastes.”

“Yeah, well – it don’t talk at least.”

Tony’s delighted chuckle made Victor’s blood heat up. He drank from the bottle in front of him and closed his eyes. When the response came, he forgot to breathe.

“Want some company? I could use a little surf and turf.”

“Come on down,” Victor managed to tease, just to hear the chuckle again. “Need tha coordinates?”

“No, I can find it – or JARVIS can. I’ll bring my swim trunks. See you in a few.”

Victor couldn’t figure out a teasing response before the call was abruptly ended. He drank more, fussing about whether to stay in the bar or go to his room – mindful of Tony’s preference for private trysts. In the end, he finished off the whisky bottle, asked them to send champagne on ice to his room, and went back out to the beach.

He had walked rather far out from any other tourists when he turned to head back and caught an enticing scent as the warm breeze shifted. Expecting to see the armor first, he was surprised to see Tony in blue and red swim trunks and a red t-shirt walking along the water’s edge in bare feet. He looked like the violent red sunset had conjured him.

“Where’d ya drop tha tin?” Victor asked with a smirk as the inventor walked up to him.

“The newly polished and perfect Mark V is on the patio of your room – looking like a harmless suitcase.”

“Good spot fer it.”

“I thought so.” Tony reached up, got fingers through a fluffy blond sideburn and tugged gently to get him to bend lower. “I need a break before I take a probably stressful break, okay?” he whispered against Victor’s lips before kissing him lightly. “So let’s take it easy and resist talking about my problems. Agreed?”

Victor swallowed hard, the rough skin over his throat twitching as Tony touched it. “Sure thing.”

“You are, yes,” Tony teased, smiling. “Does this place have any of those little romantic nooks in the bushes?”

“Yup – they’re called bushes. I also gotta room with a real bed.”

“We’ll get there,” Tony promised. Giving him a real kiss, he took him by the hand and led him off up to the treeline.

The vegetation didn’t offer supplies like lube, so their options were limited. Yet the peace of the place soothed and lured them into matching its easy rhythm, until neither of them minded taking it slow.

Victor found a spot of soft grasses and plants at the edge of the sand, screened by young palm tree fronds and bright pink and yellow plumeria flowers. He cut a few of the fronds and draped them in a loose weave over the grass. He was barely finished when Tony settled down on it and leaned back on his elbows to watch him.

“I love the jaunty bananas,” he remarked, and as Victor stripped off his garishly decorated trunks, the inventor sighed with a relaxed sort of satisfaction. “And that cock, geez… Get down here.”

Victor dropped the cloth and went to his knees to slowly strip his lover’s body, tossing the shorts over his own at the edge of the greenery as Tony peeled off his t-shirt and pitched it near the little pile.

They didn’t talk for a while until hands and mouths sated some of the urgent need that had wound them both up tight once they finally could touch. As the sun went down and darkness muted by the blue glow of the arc reactor made it difficult for the human to see, Tony touched him more to make up for it. The effort not to thrust his cockhead into Tony’s throat nearly killed him.

When he came, Tony had to let it go and half-spluttered through a choked laugh as most of the seed escaped down his face.

“That didn’t work; hand me the shirt.” He rubbed his face with it and tossed it back to the pile.

Victor cheerfully licked his chest clean as an apology, shivering a little at the act of running his tongue over the arc reactor. When he was done, Tony tapped it twice in annoyance.

“This thing could probably lead anyone right to us – real stealthy.”

“Nobody t’ see it fer half a mile in any direction.”

Shaking his head a little in wonder, Tony smiled at him. “Handy trick.”

They finally pulled on their trunks again and ran for the waves to clean up before making the sandy and salty trek back to the hotel. Tony had wrung out his t-shirt in the surf before pulling it back on to mute the blue glow.

From the private patio off the deserted pool area, they could walk right into his room through sliding glass doors that displayed the king bed and the champagne bucket on the wooden desk.

“Thoughtful,” Tony remarked as he grabbed a mass of black cloth and a pair of tennis shoes in one hand and carried in the odd red and silver suitcase in the other. He set it all down by a chair. “But I need to wash the grit off before you mistake me for a salt lick again.”

“Walk-in shower’s off that way, I’ll let ya at it first.” He opened the champagne with an easy twist and let the cork pop into a corner behind a nightstand. “Ya hungry?”

“No, but I’ll let you handle ordering breakfast,” Tony called out as the water started up in the shower.

Amused because he never used such things normally, he grabbed the hanging card provided and checked off a breakfast order for two – in amounts enough for four – and went to hang it on the inside door handle with the Do Not Disturb sign.

_They’ll figure it out._

He joined Tony in the shower with his braid wrapped up in a knot and left it in the messy bun at the nape of his neck when they moved to the bed. Glasses were eventually abandoned for drinking from the bottle as they got into Victor’s travel stash of lube.

Tony stretched out on his stomach, held on to a pillow for dear life, and tried to talk while Victor’s fingers and tongue worshipped his body open and ready. The feral didn’t comment on what seemed like unusual nerves, as long as the man’s body language was clearly receptive and eager.

“Yellow walls and white-with-floral-print wing chairs, huh – plus it’s not a crazy suite with Olympian square footage. Odd for you.”

Victor moved him into a slanted crouch with his ass in the air, poised on spread knees. “I’m bettin’ ya won’t notice décor an’ space in a bit,” he promised, and slicked up his cock before setting it in place.

“Not taking that bet – oh, God… Yes,” he half-hissed. “Easy, okay?”

Victor answered with a slow, careful thrust deeper and a growling groan over Tony’s back. He reached around a hip to grip and pump that beautiful cock.

When he eventually flipped Tony over to spear himself on that cock, he let his spent and still bobbing dick leak cum onto the toned stomach. Fucking himself smooth and slow by working his legs, letting Tony rest, he leaned down to nip at and lick nipples without a word about the geometric sunburst of palladium poisoning that ringed the glowing blue arc reactor.

~ ~ ~

All the windows and glass doors were shaded but the rising sun warmed the room and woke Victor to the sight of Tony tightly curled against his chest. They had only slept for a few hours, but Victor felt more rested than he had in months.

_Arc reactor didn’t skip all night – so that’s somethin’. Still looks worse, though._

One of Tony’s hands was fisted under Victor’s jaw. The other one had worked fingers into the fur thatch at the center of his chest. Now and then, they pulled at it and the sensation set off a low purr he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

With one little groan and a light shake of his head, the inventor woke but didn’t move. After a few deep and even breaths, the fingers began to scratch and stoke the fur. Victor smiled around his lower fangs when he saw those beautiful dark coffee eyes staring back at him under messy brunet bed hair.

 _Well, he ain’t tryin’ t’ bail…_ “I went t’ yer Expo thingy,” Victor spoke the first words that jumped into his head.

“Yeah? I didn’t hear about it.”

“That’s cuz I was on my best behavior, as tha vague invitation implied.”

Tony’s smile was warm. “Did that nearly make you pop?”

“It was close, ain’t gonna lie. Some show, what with tha dancers an’ all. Ya realize ‘Ironettes’ is a ridiculous name?”

“I do. I make these decisions to annoy others.”

“McCoy crashed my evenin’, still kept tha claws in.”

“McCoy?”

“X-Man Beast, yer sometimes client an’ sorta acquaintance. Blue fur.”

“Oh yeah … sorry. Not really awake. What did he want?”

“Said he wanted t’ talk. Whatever, don’t care. Ditched ‘im an’ left after ya didn’t come back. Don’t care t’ listen t’ yer pa natter on, neither.”

“My…? Oh, the video. Yeah. Things have been moving alarmingly fast for me.”

Tony rolled over to his other side, his back to Victor. When he grabbed for his wrist and pulled him in, the feral cuddled in close again and held him with one heavy arm around his waist.

Instead of falling asleep again, the inventor fell to playing with the muscles of Victor’s hand. He’d figured out how to press and manually flex them to make the claws pop and gasped a little at the sight of the bloody wounds they made tearing their way out of his fingertips. They healed before the blood could even drip.

“Crap, sorry…”

“M’kay,” Victor muttered, half asleep. “Used t’ that. Don’t bother me none if’n ya wanna mess with ‘em. Just watch out fer tha pointy ends.”

“Okay…”

He had sorted out how to make them manually retract in time for Victor to stir at another sound outside the door. The smell was mildly enticing.

“They dropped off tha breakfast cart,” he explained as he got his hand back and moved reluctantly off the bed. He pulled the cart in and relocked the door, taking the metal covers off the plates.

“You and your love of Mount Bacon,” Tony joked. “Let me at those eggs, please – and the coffee.”

“Stay there, gonna bring it,” Victor told him. He poured a mug of coffee and got a plate together on a tray tucked at the side of the cart.

“Wow. Full service feral, I like this. If you’re not careful, I’ll take full advantage. No doubt the criminal underworld would miss you, but I’d be spoiled rotten.”

Victor shot him a pointed look. “Think ya got some idea how far ya can push me by now.”

“I – do, yes,” Tony muttered half under his breath. He pulled his legs in to sit up properly and it was hard to tell if he was just getting settled for the tray’s delivery or withdrawing a little.

Placing the tray on the bed in front of him, Victor gently held Tony’s chin in his fingers and tilted that pretty face up. “Gonna say it once – if’n ya ever ask me t’ retire, better be a me-sized hole in yer life t’ take up my time. I’m a kitty with a stunnin’ array o’ bad habits if’n I get bored.”

He leaned in and wiped the stunned look off the man’s face with a kiss that stole the breath from both of them.

Tony’s coffee nearly suffered for it until he remembered it was there and grabbed the mug. He took a sip to break eye contact and then held it between them like a shield until Victor retreated back to the cart.

Returning to the bed with the metal platter of bacon in one hand and his coffee mug in the other – properly drowned in sugar – he settled near Tony and began to eat without further comment. He worked hard to appear aloof, secure in the knowledge that his lover couldn’t hear his rapid heartbeat or scent his fear.

Honestly shocked when the man didn’t bail after breakfast was destroyed, Victor sat still beside him and methodically peeled open and licked clean every one of the little jelly and jam packets that had been included for the untouched toast.

Tony was nursing his second mug of black coffee and watching him in a contemplative silence. Finally downing the java and setting the mug on the closest nightstand, he placed his hands on his knees and let out a little sigh.

“You know I was kidding, a bit of a teasing thank you. I guess just a direct thanks would’ve been a lot less awkward.”

“Ain’t awkward.” Breaking under that iron stare, he huffed in mild annoyance, mostly at himself. Letting the last little plastic rectangle fall to the tray, he added grudgingly, “Fine, it’s a li’l awkward.”

Tony didn’t respond immediately and the topic was doomed to die a quiet death if it was left up to Victor to add to it. He dropped his gaze, popped a claw and used the curved back of it to push the thin foil cover inside one of the jelly packets.

 _Wanna tell ‘im I meant it, but who am I kiddin’? He called me a fuckin’ sure thing, an’ yeah, I am fer ‘im – but that ain’t fer keeps. ‘Sides, wantin’ that shit t’ be true don’t mean I could do it. Just sounds like a collar an’ leash, a new pretty cage – one I’d be alone in a lot, I’d bet._ He slumped a hair, wary of Tony watching him closely.

“They always have too many grape ones and not enough strawberry,” Tony noted, deliberately calm and patient.

“Yup.” He pushed another foil down, unable to stop the frown on his face. _What tha fuck am I doin’ still chasin’ after ‘im? He wants that willowy ginger village scold, ya fuckin’ know that. Hellfire, we both want a mate an’ cubs, don’t we? Not gonna get too far with that in this sitch. Should quit chasin’ my tail, rip tha want fer ‘im outta me by tha roots, any way I can, an’ go chase somethin’ that wants t’ be caught._

“What are you thinking?” Tony asked, his soft voice a gentle curiosity more than a wary question.

Victor side-stepped it anyway. “Ya want cubs? Kids? Never liked callin’ ‘em that, it means baby goats.”

Startled into a light laugh, Tony smiled at him. “Not in a hurry, can’t even figure out how to date. Plus, I’ve gotten a lot pickier lately just in time to have very little free time at all. Someday maybe, if I don’t fuck it all up. The odds are high for fucking it all up.”

“Yeah, me too. I fuck shit up on tha regular.” He took a deep breath and went ahead and slouched full on. “Don’t fuss over it, don’t matter none.”

Hands that were soft in places and calloused in others, marked by little burn and cut scars like any mechanic, reached out and touched his arm and shoulder, trying to turn him to face his lover. Victor straightened up and let Tony shift him.

“I’m really bad at this, haven’t had much practice. So let’s just move on to forgiving me that and enjoy today. I’ll start. What was the last fun thing you did besides me – not work, just fun.”

The conversational life raft having been offered, Victor decided to cling to it.

“Hunted a wildebeest fer dinner tha other night with a mini lion pride. That was fun.”

“Wow. Ah, okay. Tastes like chicken?” His smile was beautiful.

“Nope, tastes like wildebeest.” The expression on Tony’s face as he attempted to look politely pleased about this tugged Victor’s lips into a smirk. “Next time, I’ll bring ya a haunch. Ya can cook it if’n ya gotta.”

“Wildebeest al dente in a delicate duguay sauce.” He held his thumb and forefinger in a pinch and kissed them with a flourish before smirking at him. “C’est magnifique!”

Victor couldn’t help a randy growl at the French phrase. “What’s duguay sauce?”

“You’d like it, feta and basil – for you, we’d skip the tomatoes and peppers.”

Setting his half-full coffee cup down on a nightstand, Victor let a growl rumble against the skin of his lover’s throat until that sweet heat sparked and they were both ready to kick the empty serving platter and breakfast tray to the floor to get them out of their way.

Tony finally stacked them and leaned down to set it all on the floor. When he sat back up, he gasped a little and his heat scent spiked at the sight of Victor on his stomach with his legs spread. Wordlessly, he found and made use of the lube.

Moving over him, Tony nuzzled his twitching pointed ear and chuckled. “You really love that, huh? Why do you like it so much? Is it the … ah, hmm. The … submissive posture?”

It took him a while to find words to answer that. By then, Tony had thrust slowly inside him after the initial rough punch to get in.

“Feels like … yers,” he fumbled to speak. “Bein’…”

“Hmm,” the soft voice nearly purred over his broad back. Then he let himself pop back out so he could shift up to get his mouth at Victor’s ear again. “You want it to feel like you’re mine?”

His tone sent a shudder down Victor’s body. He couldn’t have answered that question directly to save his life.

“I don’t want to end up teasing you – in an unwelcome way, that is – but… I like this, too. Having you this way, it’s hard to describe. I feel so … powerful. Huh. Okay, I’m about to call you a car, but bear with me. It feels like that. Honestly, I thought of you when I bought that Formula One – which yeah, I am going to drive, no matter what. Trying to capture that feeling, like what I get from the suits and flying, and… Just wow. Yeah. Having you under me like this … damn.”

Both of his hands were stroking Victor’s body, his ribs, his arms, and then the fingertips traced the muscles, moving through patterns of fur that framed and dusted them.

“It’s not really about being in control for me, though – it’s about barely being in control. Using my skills to stay that way, to the limit, like … well,” he paused with a low chuckle, “you really nailed it, with ‘danger whore’.” He sucked in a harsh breath and let it out as warm air on Victor’s neck.

Barely able to keep still, Victor closed his eyes.

“What else do you like? You almost never tell me stuff like that. I want to do more things you like.”

“Just wanna be with ya more, like this, like … anythin’.”

“That’s our busy conflicting schedules problem. Tell me something I can do now – now and next time. Anytime.”

“Fuck me.”

“Oh, that’s on the list, honey, trust me. Come on, okay? One thing.”

He was nuzzling the ear again, chasing it a little with his warm breath as it moved. The shock of his tongue running a wet stripe up the tapered length of it made Victor freeze still and involuntarily violently shudder at once.

“Ooo, target acquired.”

He did it again before catching the tip in his lips, in his teeth. A gentle nip, and then he suckled it and Victor nearly came under his own weight. Tony’s bright little laugh of delight made the feral shiver as every one of his hackles rose up stiffer in sharp and urgent arousal.

“I’m guessing that speeds things up a lot, though, huh?” Moving up more, he kissed a furry sideburn. “Here’s the game – I’m going to fuck you until I come. You’re not going to come yet. Then I want you on your back. Feel free to claw the bed, but no one will be touching your cock. I’m going to suck on and nibble your eartip until you can’t stop yourself from coming. Sound good?”

One nod was all he could manage but Tony clicked his tongue at him and mercifully moved back down. Victor couldn’t breathe until he was breached again. Tony’s cock thrust in him lazily at first, now and then changing his angle to rub across the sweet spot over his prostate. The only mercy Victor got was that Tony had riled himself up too much to draw it all out for long.

It didn’t matter to him how fast or slow, how torturous or blindingly good he was fucked. It was Tony. It was Tony thrusting deep inside his body, getting his pleasure, about to fill him with his seed.

The random crude phrase _‘He bred me good’_ fired across his jumbled thoughts and he had to slam every ounce of a well-trained and honed willpower down on his body to stop it from coming. _Oh, fuck … Tony… Yers, I’m yers, don’t care…_

When he heard and felt Tony start to come, he nearly screamed those words aloud.

Breathing raggedly, his lover slowly, slowly pulled free. Slightly rubbery limbs climbed his back. “Did you come?” the excited and bright voice whispered at his ear.

Falling back on old habits, he managed to gulp out, “No, Tony.”

“Was it a near miss? I think it was.”

“Yes, Tony.”

“Oo, I like that.” He moved off of him to the edge of the bed. “On your back for me, killer.”

The wet spot from just pre-cum was bigger than some males’ cum stains he’d had over the years. He almost lost it seeing Tony swipe a finger across it with a little hum of satisfaction.

Settling on his back, his entire body felt like the skin was prickling, even in places that didn’t have hackles to rise up.

“Let’s up the stakes.”

“Oh, God…”

Tony laughed again, and the sound was like water in the desert. “I’m a danger whore, remember?”

A hand reached down and petted Victor’s trembling skin over his abdomen. It grasped and picked up the thick wrist closest to him as Tony leaned back on his side and laid his head on his other arm. He lined his mouth up with the tip of Victor’s ear and then gently set that big hand down onto his unprotected thigh.

Victor’s stomach lurched. “Ain’t safe –”

“I trust you,” Tony interrupted his protest. “Claws out, just a feather prick.”

When Victor couldn’t bring himself to obey that, Tony lifted it and manipulated the hand muscles to pop the claws out. He started to set them down on his flesh but Victor jerked his hand up out of his grasp easily.

“Don’t, lemme do it. Ya dunno…”

“Okay. Hey, it’s okay. Go ahead.” After the heel of the hand touched down and the claws were set, Tony whispered, “Victor, I trust you. I know you can do this. Your self-control is stunning.”

Victor squeezed his eyes shut tight. His heart was trying to hammer through his sternum. “Don’t wanna ever hurt ya…”

“You won’t. You can prick them in a little, you can even draw blood. I want you to. I’ll let you lick it clean. Let your other hand wreck the mattress.” The pink wet tongue licked and stroked up the outside edge of his ear to the tip. “The faster you come, the sooner you can take your claws off my thigh.”

The vicious clash of spiked arousal and urgent fear spun and knotted in Victor’s head, yet it was still Tony – trusting him, thrilled with the power now under his control.

_Barely in control – but it’s … what he seeks out, maybe why he comes t’ me…_

With that acceptance of his lover’s words, he stabbed his claws into the bed with a low growl. Then he gave the other claws the slightest twitch of his hand, sucking in Tony’s gasp as the pinpoint tiny holes released the scent of blood to mix with the heat coming from them both. He almost made himself dizzy taking in all of the sensations hitting him at once – but kept focus on the claws in Tony’s skin. The desire to sink into the pleasure of his lover’s mouth and the tight need to come warred with that caution, distracting him from letting go and allowing it all to wash sense away.

Tony didn’t just suckle and nip at his ear, and the sounds he made along with the words he chose began to unravel Victor’s newfound resolve to carve out of himself the need for this man. The hopeless mess of it all blew away with each hot puff of breath, each little huff and groan.

“If I hadn’t just come, oh, man…” Clearly remembering Victor’s confession, he used that, too. “You’re mine. Right now, for this moment, you’re mine.”

A stab of panic surged through his guts in the same instant that his claws cut through blankets, mattress, fluff, and the metal beneath it – and the blood smell in the air grew a little more intense.

Fingertips toyed with and pinched one of his nipples. That arm, pressing over his chest, wouldn’t let him up to see the claws.

“Tony –”

“Call me Anthony,” he whispered back.

“Anthony, are ya…?”

The breathy shushing noise at his earlobe nearly made him lose it. “Shh, I’m fine. Come for me.”

He forced the claws in flesh to freeze still, let the others rip and tear. With one more suckle and nibble at the tip of his ear, one more groan from his mate, he came.

Tony’s bright soft laugh of delight and the last shocks of orgasm made him shudder before the tension stringing his entire body taut released and he lay limp and trembling. Slowly, carefully, he held his breath and retracted his claws.

“Oh, honey, that was beautiful. And see – nothing but little pinpricks.” Tony moved his arm and stayed on his side as Victor sat up and moved. “The maid is going to hate us, though,” he added with a wince.

Ignoring the quip and the mess he made of the bedding to lie on his slicked stomach, Victor got his long tongue on the small punctures before the blood could drip far at all. The delicious ferrous taste of it made the flagging hackels of his back, arms, and chest rise and spike again.

He didn’t stop licking the tiny wounds until well after the bleeding had stopped. Then, mindful of the damage his tongue’s barbs could cause without extreme care, he stopped and sat up. Taking the hand offered for help, he assisted Tony in sitting up beside him.

“Well, I feel like overcooked pasta.” Leaning in, Tony kissed him, unconcerned with the traces of his blood on Victor’s lips. “Speaking of pissing off the maid, damn.”

He leaned across Victor’s lap to inspect the wounded bed. With a light whistle of wonder, he put his hand into the fluffy stuffing mess of a hole in the bedding and mattress. Part of his forearm disappeared, too.

“It goes straight through. A few of the springs in the boxspring are cut.”

“Don’t knick yer fingers on ‘em,” Victor warned.

Once Tony straightened up, Victor slid down to collapse next to the gouged fluff. He felt like a puppet with its strings slashed and tangled.

“You realize I do that often, right?” Tony displayed his hand to show off the collection of little scars. Victor leaned his head up to kiss a few of the fingertips, making his lover smirk.

“What ya do t’ ‘em under a hood or on one o’ ‘em crazy suits ain’t my fault, though.”

Still smirking, Tony climbed him to lie on top, arms folded on his broad furry chest. “So … you liked that, despite the preliminary objections.”

Victor peered up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Didn’t know ya were diabolical. ‘Sposed t’ be tha good guy, ain’t ya?”

Tony fell into chuckling, forehead on his crossed wrists, before looking down at him again. “There’s that dragged-out fucked-out drawl that dips an octave lower that I adore. And I am the good guy. I’m just … creatively wanton when I get half a minute to apply myself.”

“Ya knew if’n I was worried ‘bout cuttin’ ya I wouldn’t be able t’ blow so fast, even with ya nibblin’ on tha hot button. How’d ya sort that out if’n all ya do on the regular is wham-bam-thank-ya-ma’am?”

“Intuition? There’s this rumor that I’m smart.”

“Still rather not take such a big risk.”

“We’ve played with your claws quite a few times now – fangs, too.”

“I’m in charge o’ ‘em usually, plus in charge o’ how outta control I get – makes a big diff’rence t’ me. Ya oughta not forget I gotta crazy switch in scrambled brains – feral switch, too – nothin’ t’ fuck with lightly.”

“Your inner kitty’s smitten with me, though. No worries there.”

Victor stomped on the urge to elaborate on how many parts of him that applied to. He frowned instead. “He don’t understand stuff much, ya know – people stuff. Remember when ya told me I was tryin’ t’ go after ya on tha fishin’ trawler? Ya had t’ fly up outta reach – though ya weren’t technically outta reach, got it?”

“I’ll file that away. Yes, I remember.”

“I can generally piece t’gether what went down when I get my brains back. Puss in Boots likes ya, sure – but he thought yer suit was harmin’ ya an’ planned t’ make it let ya go, t’ protect ya … but if’n he startin’ carvin’ at it, ya wouldn’t enjoy it so much, got it?”

“Got it. Ah… Puss in Boots?” Tony grinned at him.

“Figure o’ speech – fer a feral often wearin’ boots,” he replied with a frown. “Point is, keep self-peservation in mind just a tad, huh?”

With a saucy smile and click of his tongue, Tony stretched to kiss him. “I will, I promise. I did say I wanted to take things easy. Let’s get back to that, hmm?” He unfolded his arms and one of them snaked down as he shifted his body up and the hand gently grasped Victor’s cock, which he’d been lying on.

Closing his eyes and sinking into that touch, giving himself over to his lover, Victor let his fears and conscious thought slide away.

~ ~ ~

Without worrying about anything but the vague tracking of the sunlight across the filmy white drapes, Victor wallowed in Tony’s company all day with a hedonistic abandon that the man luckily still seemed to find charming.

Neither of them cared to stop for lunch and by the time an orange sunset left the world in darkness, they were still tangled in each other, touching and pleasuring, trying to forget the passage of time.

Finally sitting up with a sigh, Tony reached reflexively for Victor’s mug and downed a swallow before nearly choking on it.

“Ugh – cold sugar slop … yikes.”

Victor grinned. “Want some warm champagne t’ wash it down?”

“I’m not too proud to do that.”

Reaching to fetch the bottle and shaking it to find not much left inside, he handed it to Tony without taking a drink first. “All yers. I can call fer somethin’ else?”

Tony slumped a little where he sat with covers in a puddle in his lap. He drank the last of it, set the empty bottle by the mug, and stretched. “No, you said evening and we both need to get going. I’m not entirely sure which day is notary paperwork day; I’m hoping it’s not first thing tomorrow. If I miss it, I’ll be in trouble with the new boss.”

Victor snorted, not sure himself if it was out of amusement or annoyance. He leaned in on all fours and kissed Tony speechless – for a few moments, at least.

“Damn, I needed this. Happy early birthday to me.” Tony reached out and turned on a lamp over the nightstand, smiling as Victor blinked.

“Ya never did say what ya want. I got practice buyin’ fer billionaires.”

Tony almost brushed the idea away again before he paused, looking thoughtful. “Take the Count Trossi off my hands.”

Victor frowned. “That ain’t a present fer ya. Ain’t my birthday.”

“Technically, neither of us know that. I finished the work it needed after we worked on it together at my house. There are no others like that car and I don’t want to risk putting a new suit through it during a flight or weapons test. I’ll let Pepper and JARVIS know, I can have it shipped anywhere. That’s what I want for my birthday. Give the Count Trossi a safe home. I’ve taken it for a few spins, I’m good. Deal?”

Victor smirked, sure he wasn’t serious. “Will yer bank take a check fer ten million?”

“Don’t be silly – this isn’t a sale, it’s a rescue. I’ll have it shipped to the New York branch of your bank, you can send it anywhere safe from there. I’ll reserve joint custody for occasional weekend visits or something.”

“Hellfire, twist my arm.”

Tony smiled. “You respect and appreciate treasures like that – more than I do, clearly; I murdered my Shelby.”

“Promised not t’ ask ‘bout yer probs, didn’t I? Givin’ all yer toys away like a man plannin’ on not bein’ ‘round t’ enjoy stuff? Mighty odd behavior, ain’t it.”

“You did promise, yes. Also, I give things away like that all the time.” One hand reached out and stroked a sideburn, and then he escaped to stand away from the bed. “Tell you what; get the hotel to bring up that good whiskey you like and a change of clothes? For me, at least – I actually put the flight suit over the beachwear and I bet it’s still salt-crunchy. Just boxer briefs and a t-shirt, I’m flying straight home. Call the booze my birthday present.”

“Ya got it. Wanna keep the stuff ya brought?”

“Don’t need it. Pitch it.” Heading for the big glass-walled shower, he called out, “Feel free to watch, but we’ll get back on track faster if you only watch.”

With a slight grumble, he sat back as Tony walked off: nude and gloriously smelling like his feral musk. He abruptly remembered McCoy’s joke about that, calling it Eau de Feralle.

Chuckling despite his lowering mood, he rose, picked up the receiver of the hotel phone and hit the button for guest services. He pulled out a change of clothes from his backpack on the floor by the nightstand and tossed them on the foot of the bed. Soon after he’d hung up, Tony’s salty stiff shorts and t-shirt were wadded into the backpack before he zipped it back up.

Victor went into the bathroom. Letting the lid of the toilet fall with a smack that made a soapy Tony startle, he straddled and sat on it to watch the show from close up. He got up once to get the door when their care package arrived and then took up his vigil again.

By the time Tony got out, toweled off, and began to dress, Victor vetoed his own shower and started pulling on his clothes, too – jeans and a t-shirt. Tony had used his shower stuff, so even though the musk on him was a little less, he still smelled deliciously like him.

“Are you in that big a hurry? We could have gotten rolling earlier if you needed to.”

“I smell like ya, just fine with that.”

Tony gave him an odd look that was quickly morphed into a wink and a smile. He found the bottle of twenty-one year Glenfiddich on the table and sighed in relief after the first swallow of it. He set it down to pull on the black flight suit that he had draped over one of the chairs. The tennis shoes went on last before he grabbed the red and silver suitcase and laid it down.

Victor started to protest, to ask him to wait, but the weird moving plates of the portable Iron Man suit were fully formed to encase the man before he got the first word out.

The faceplate popped open to reveal Tony smiling at him. “Next time?”

Victor crossed his arms over his chest and took a shot at casual indifference. Maybe Tony wouldn’t notice the claws of his toes stabbing little holes in the fancy wood floor. “Catch ya on tha flipside.”

Tony approached and Victor managed not to flinch when the metal hand cupped the side of his face. The suit made him equal in height and the inventor smiled as he leaned in to kiss him.

“Later, killer.”

A small gathering of tourists around the pool got a shock when Iron Man opened the tinted sliding glass door to the room and stepped out. He shut the door behind him and launched into the sky.

Victor got his boots on and gathered his meager things together in the backpack. He used the door to the hallway when he left, to keep Tony’s secret. One quick call to his partner Lenusya and the damage to the hotel room and the limousine to take him to the jet were seen to.

He tried not to think until he was sitting on the jet and they were climbing into the sky to leave Africa far behind them. Tony hadn’t taken his birthday bottle of Glenfiddich with him, so Victor planned to drink it on the first leg of the long flight back to North America.

Settling into a slouch, he called out to his pilot, “Wake me up before we land in crazy town.”

Victor knew work wouldn’t stop him from worrying about Tony’s illness but he couldn’t help with it, even if the man would let him.

He couldn’t quite wipe the frown off his face as he lifted the bottle to his view of the night sky through the jet’s window.

_Happy early birthday, Tony. Hope it ain’t yer last one._

Drinking until the bottle was empty, he let it slip out of his fingers to fall on the aisle seat next to him.

_Gotham next, huh – oughta be good fer a few laughs._

**FINI.**

(Sabretooth will return in _Anarchy Kings_ , a crossover with my version of the Joker from my story _Arkham_ , also posted here.)

**Author's Note:**

> The quote on Cordco tech by Karl Oakley as well as Karl himself and his tech were found via the Stark Expo/Cordco pages of the MCU wiki. McCoy’s phrase “All of these roads not taken” alludes to the poem "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost, which some scholars say is more about regrets over choices made and wondering what was missed in that choice taken, than about a simple walk in the woods. Tony’s keynote speech is from the Iron Man 2 script.
> 
> Magilla Gorilla is a Hanna Barbera 1960s cartoon character, an anthropomorphic gorilla that lives in a pet shop and keeps getting returned whenever someone buys him. Hank knows the reference and paraphrases the character’s catchphrase to Victor: “We’ll try again next week.” I adore Hank McCoy, so he shows up to annoy Victor now and then.
> 
> "Out of Africa" is a 1985 romantic film set in 1913 British East Africa. The Mukutan Retreat is a real place, although in 2017 it was attacked by cattle herders who shot at residents and later burned the place down in an effort to steal the land for their cattle. The herders allow their cattle to destroy the land, so I’m definitely not on their side. "Magnum P.I." is a TV show.
> 
> The title of this story is inspired by the 1996 movie, "The Ghost and the Darkness", a fictionalized account of the real Tsavo Man-Eaters, two lions that attacked and killed workers at Tsavo, Kenya, during the building of the Uganda-Mombasa Railway in East Africa in 1898. Victor’s hunt happened in the same area. The Count Trossi is the 1930 Mercedes-Benz SSK ‘Count Trossi’ classic car that is actually owned by designer Ralph Lauren, but in my story "Over the Edge", I invented that Tony bought it because Mr. Lauren’s wife wanted some art from Tony’s collection. I did not originally plan to have Tony show up in this story, but any excuse I find to play with my OTP is a good excuse.
> 
> Gotham belongs to DC. Victor is heading there next because I’ve always wanted to put him in the same room with the Joker from my fanfic "Arkham", and because I need to keep him busy during the remaining events of Iron Man 2. Apologies for the lengthy time between updates to my stories while the world turned upside down with a pandemic – I do hope you and your loved ones are okay. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic) (anongrimm.tumblr.com)


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